


Misconstrued Intentions

by slight_Ichatrina_obsessed_sleepyfangirl



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Confessions, Confrontations, Eavesdropping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ichatrina, Implied Relationships, Light Dom/sub, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6344077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slight_Ichatrina_obsessed_sleepyfangirl/pseuds/slight_Ichatrina_obsessed_sleepyfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After stumbling upon his wife confessing to caring for his greatest enemy, Ichabod Crane loses his control and decides he's had enough. The Masonic Cell, which holds the Horseman of Death captive, becomes the location for the fallout between husband and wife on the eve of the Witness' greatest battle. Set during the Akeda episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misconstrued Intentions

He hated when a smell seemed as though it was digging into your skin and implanting itself inside your very being; the way it consumed the air to the point that it could nearly be tasted. To be honest, he hated foul smells in general, something he was grateful to this century for eradicating for the most part.

Here, there was no shit in the streets, no decaying animals around every corner, no day's old moldy bread as one's only source of nourishment. People as a whole had a generally better sense of body care in this modern society and thankfully he didn't have the unfortunate knowledge that they were coming before ever laying eyes on them; a regrettable occurrence that had once happened upon him daily.

A weary sigh gave him a momentary reprieve from the moldy scent of the tunnel as he pushed open the dreaded steel door he had no more desire to enter through than he did to have Paul Revere go digging inside his mouth. However, little as he wished to see Abraham, or listen to his woe is me complaints and snarls, he had a particular bit of business that only the captive Horseman could see done.

If only he could breathe in a proper bit of fresh air to steady his nerves a bit better.

The outer chamber welcomed him into its dim embrace and, oddly, the first thing that truly caught his attention wasn't the overwhelming scent of candle wax that overrode the mold, but her soft voice speaking low.

"I saw a man I haven't seen in centuries."

His steps now more tentative for reasons he couldn't place, he eased up to the viewing window with a sense of foreboding. Whatever was occurring on the other side of that glass was something he knew would wound him greatly. He wasn't sure how he knew such things, except to take in the tell tale tone to her voice he was suddenly desperate to ignore. It was too soft; too imploring. It brought him a momentary recall to the times she'd smiled up at him, her dimples on full display, a particular want in her gold-green eyes; be it a kiss or a new dress. During those moments, resistance had been futile on his part.

The only difference now was that she wasn't standing alongside him, her fingers tangled between his own, but before Abraham, his chained form outstretched; intimidating and dark; ever exuding evil from his core.

Of course, this was to be expected as she was meant to be garnering information from him; information she'd said would more easily be imparted to her than to him. He wasn't certain if she was attempting to garner a rise from him or not with such logic. The idea that his wife, his beloved Katrina, who had gone to hell for him, was using the sort of logic that had her in a room with her former fiancé, tempting him into giving her answers, left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

Now, here he stood, watching Abraham stare at her with a mix of desire and hatred, his dark gaze penetrating her as surely as he would with his cock were he free.

How many nights had he laid awake, fearing the worst? The things Abraham might force her to do? The things he was exposing her to? How many nights had he felt her slipping further and further away?

It was only just recently occurring to him that Katrina had the habit of putting her ideas above all else. What if she thought luring Abraham in with her feminine wiles was the best way to garner his help? How far would she go? Would she find a way to justify allowing Abraham's touch? Allowing Abraham to think he'd won? The fact that all this time, she'd been conversing with the demon; listening to him spew his hatred, his vile and skewed opinions, was disconcerting to him. It made him feel his age in ways he never had. Weariness consumed him for he knew Abraham's thoughts of him. He knew what sort of whispers he was placing in Katrina's ears. What sort of doubts he was attempting to force into her heart. Abraham had always been such a persuasive man; passionate. Why had he ever agreed to his wife's remaining in that demon's presence?

Now, as he watched the gentle touch of her hand to Abraham's shoulder, he found himself going rigid; his body suddenly too stiff to move; to even breathe. The cold dungeon became starkly hotter; more pressing on his air.

Despite the chant he'd been replaying over and over in his mind regarding Katrina and Abraham's complicated relationship, the sight before him was far too intimate to ignore. It all but destroyed the delusion he'd been forcing himself to keep repeating.

"I saw how deeply you care for me," she whispered, though the structure of the chamber made it impossible for her voice to stay just between them. "And I care for you, too."

Heart faltering, he told himself he must have imagined the soft utterance that had departed from his wife's mouth; that same sweet tone she always and only used with him.

Yes. It was an imagination. She'd not take it this far.

However, the expression on Abraham's face, the look of utter surprise, left his fingers clenching against his palms as a tightness took hold of his chest. It was hard; suffocating. Everything within him wanted to burst into the room and castrate his former friend. What vile thoughts must be swirling in that devious mind.

Jaw set firm, he spun back to the door, a swirl of fury in his step, and slammed it shut, wanting her to know she was no longer alone; no longer free to mutter her thoughts so freely.

Bright, hot coils of anger welled in his chest as the sound of the creaking steel slid into place, leaving him to take to pacing the room, awaiting her inevitable appearance. What he would say was lost to him, but he knew he had to say something; _do_ something. He refused to continue in this manner for another moment.

"Ichabod."

Body going stiff at the sound of her voice, he inhaled a deep, shaky breath and took a stance with his back to her, not willing- no, _not ready_ to face her. Facing her might mean falling under her spell; the one she always seemed to cast over him. He might be forced to acknowledge the innocence she so easily wove around her; that allure that called him to protect her; trust her. His love for her always made him falter; made him give into whatever slipped from between her soft lips; the lips he'd once have give anything to have one taste of; one sweet caress.

Not today.

"Ichabod? Are you alright?"

Her voice was tinged with concern; that much he could decipher. However, he could also make out the nervousness in it; the worry of what he'd overheard. Good. She deserved to feel somewhat worried. He'd surely felt that way enough over the past weeks.

Rather than acknowledge her, he turned further away from her and moved to the window; his gaze set on his former best friend.

Abraham's eyes, cold and icy as ever, met his through the glass right before he bared his teeth and yanked forward against the chains which were restricting him. How quickly the hatred channeled through him was unfathomable.

How could she feel sympathy for a being who'd wrought so much destruction? Not only against the world, but against them? His jealousy had torn them apart; started this entire era of their lives. Their son had spent his childhood in the midst of beatings and torment all because of Abraham's revenge. How had he stolen their future, yet still managed to garner his wife's sympathy and care? It made no sense.

"Has something happened?"

"I heard you," he confirmed, not bothering with pretense.

He was so tired of pretending that everything was alright; that a storm wasn't brewing between them, striking here and there; furthering the chasm separating them. Soon, it would be too wide to bridge.

"My love," she began, her voice soft; always soft; always innocent.

His muscles knotted as a pulsing burn began along his neck, forcing him to clench his eyes shut as he whispered a harsh, " _Stop_."

Silence.

It was so overwhelming that he swore he could hear the candles flickering around the chamber; the soft clinking of the chains binding Abraham.

He was forced to open his eyes just to insure she was even still there.

And she was, only it didn't seem to him that she was still breathing. Her eyes were wide, questioning, and her hands were pressed tight against her belly in defense. She was obviously startled, likely because he so rarely took a harsh tone with her. Perhaps, he should do so more often. It was the only time she truly allowed him to speak.

"Katrina?"

Abraham's voice was an unwanted break in their trance which pulled her eyes from his. It made him want to march into the other room and place a fist to the intruder's jaw.

For her part, Katrina eyes were on the window, her breath finally releasing as she blinked at a rapid pace; her chest rising and falling; pushing against the corset wrapped tightly around her form. He was aware that she was out of Abraham's eyesight, but the fact that she was even looking bothered him immensely. It made him want to step forward and jerk her jaw back toward him.

Here they were, an internal battle waging between them, emotions tearing at the seams, and she was thinking of that monster.

He, on the other hand, never lost sight of her. She'd always been his world, his center. They'd pledged their hearts to one another and, yet, he felt as though her heart couldn't be further from his. Was it an active choice on her part? Was that how she managed to manipulate both he and Abraham? By throwing her everything to them when she was with either of them? Making them individually her center?

"Well, are you going to go to him?" he asked, bitterness creeping into his voice. "Assure him that you're well and still near?"

Green eyes slowly returned to meet his hard gaze as a small frown drew her brow together. "Of course not."

She said it as though it should have been obvious; as though she'd never even consider such a thing.

"Shocking," he flippantly replied, gesturing to the window where Abraham remained with his dark gaze fixated on him. "He seems to be under the impression that you always return to him. At least, that's what he boasted of earlier this evening when he told me of how he was going to ride away with my former wife."

Katrina's mouth dropped open ever so slightly. "Abraham's thoughts are not mine. I love you, Ichabod; only you."

"But you _care_ for him, correct?" he asked with narrowed eyes, every muscle in his body pulsing.

The way her eyes widened ever so slightly only furthered his growing disdain. That _innocence_ she called to her arsenal. He wondered if that was a particular skill she possessed as a witch. No normal human being could flip their emotions around so quickly; maintaining them under pressure. There were always those tell tale signs that gave them away; the flinch of a muscle; the slight intake of breath. It was always something and it had been his job to see those signs. How had his own wife so easily slipped by him? How had she fooled him for so long?

"Tell me, my darling wife," he said lowly, stepping to within a breath of her. "Do you care for him in the way you once cared for me? Do the feelings of the men you weave around your deceptive fingers matter so _little_ to you?"

Her eyes darted between his as her breathing picked up pace. "Ichabod-"

Unable to help himself, he snapped his hands to her hips and leaned down to her ear; hot breath coiling against her skin. "Will you betray me the way you once betrayed him?"

Her hands tangled in his shirt as she steadied herself; her fingers clenching the material.

"I would never betray you."

The choked sound of her voice made way for her tears. Of course. Of late, that was all she ever seemed to do; lie and weep.

"You already have," he whispered, taking in the feel of her chest pulsing as though she'd just overexerted herself.

A guilty conscience, he mused, eyes narrowing. She knew she had little room to maneuver in this conversation. Good. Perhaps, he would finally acquire some truths from her.

"I only said that in the hopes of gaining informa-"

It was on pure reflex that his fingers found her arms and jerked her back as he bit, "Don't you _dare_ lie to me."

The sharp breath she took echoed around the small chamber. "Ichabod-"

"All this time, you've been living with him, with another man who desires you." His fingers tightened. "How far have you taken your role, Katrina? How effectively have you tried to convince Abraham of your loyalty to him?"

"How dare you!" she growled at him as she attempted to remove his grip. "I haven't done anything to betray you."

"The world could end this very night, Katrina," he whispered, his hands holding her arms at her sides as he pulled her against him, disregarding her struggle. "Would you allow the last words spoken between us to entail further lies; further half truths and words left unspoken?"

"I swear on our son's soul, Ichabod." Her green eyes, glistening with tears, flickered between his. "I love you. I've given my heart and body to you and no other shall ever possess them."

Whether it was the truth or not, he refused to allow it to mean nothing; to be just words to her. So many of her words had proven to hold multiple interpretations; misconstrued intentions. He intended to make her mean these if it was the last thing he did on this earth.

With what felt like the fires of hell laying waste in his chest, he cleared the distance between them, claiming her mouth with his own; a violence he'd never exposed sealing them together.

A strangled sound stuck in her throat as she blindly clutched for his sides as a means to steady herself, but he ignored it as he tangled his hands in the tight braid of her hair; his grip unrelenting; perhaps even punishing. She deserved to know how angry he was; how confused and desperate for the truth he'd become.

Her return of his kiss came slowly, hesitantly, but before he'd had time to measure the distance between her back and the brick wall, she'd tightened her hold on him as her soft lips pressed against his with equal ferocity; drinking him in and allowing him entrance into her warmth.

Everything around him became blurry as his rational decision making abilities flew out the window. One moment, his hands had been in her hair and the next they were tearing at the snaps along her corset, determination to have her bared before him guiding his actions. He had to see her; _needed_ to see her; to _touch_ her.

Mouth, hot and yearning, traced along her jaw, seeking out the smooth flesh along the column of her throat where all the soft whimpers were originating. She tasted of dirt and sweat, but it was of little matter to him. It was simply proof that they'd both been through enough to have driven them to this point. They weren't living normal, simple lives. They were as much at war internally as they were when chasing demons throughout the night.

"Ichabod," she breathed as her hands clutched various places along his arms. "We can't-"

While her words said one thing, her hands said another as she pulled him closer; her breaths panting and hot against his face as she squeezed his arms.

He felt possessed, out of control, like some other being had taken him over and was guiding his movements. Animalistic need pressed his core and he had no intention of denying it.

Yanking her corset to the sides, he took to shoving her blouse up her belly, his hands gliding along the smooth texture of her skin. She was so soft; so flawless. How many nights had he spent mapping her form? Treasuring every inch of the goddess who'd deemed him worthy of her love?

"Don't tell me what I can't do." He claimed her plump breast in his demanding palm. "You're _mine_."

To accentuate his claim, he clamped his lips over her ear; tugging the hard shell into his mouth as his tongue swirled inside.

A heady moan filled the chamber as she trembled in his grasp, her chest pushing into his palm, clearly seeking more attention, while her hands slithered to the back of his head to hold his mouth to her ear.

The sound of her need coursed through his veins, sending the greater majority of his blood straight to his loins. The arousal that came with her soft mewls had him unconsciously rolling his hips against hers, seeking much needed relief for the ache burning through his trousers from that coveted place between her thighs.

In response to his actions, her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging and straining, as she opened for him, spreading her thighs and hooking one long leg over his hip. The pressure was a sweet relief, one he'd not had in ages. It had been so, so very long, since the last time he'd been this close to her; centuries; too long for a man to go without the warm, soft body of his wife.

Not wanting another minute to pass without that connection, the one that brought them into a state of complete joining, he dropped his free hand to wiggle into the tight space between their gyrating bodies; a destination in mind for which he'd been desperate for two centuries too long.

Fingers finding the smooth button on her trousers, he popped it free and tugged the zipper down before wasting little time with slipping inside to trace through her course curls in search of the hot folds of her sex; that place he'd spent so many countless hours of his existence worshipping as though it were a fountain of the sweetest treasures. If only he had the luxury of time enough to sink to his knees and taste her there.

When he finally made contact with her slick heat, a groan bubbled from his throat at how aroused she already was; how ready. This was a truth. This wasn't something about which she could lie. No. She wanted this as desperately as he did. The evidence was coating his digits.

"Ichabod," she breathed, her voice catching on a moan as her fingers tugged his hair with a painful grip, prompting him to wince from the combination of pain and pleasure.

She was so graciously welcoming, her folds parting for him with ease as he slid his fingers through her sopping wetness, weaving back and forth with a firm pressure.

Free hand slipping under her ass, he cinched her close and returned to trailing his lips along her elegant neck; lathering each inch of skin with his unwavering attention. He wanted this to matter; to be something for which she longed; remembered. Even if all else fell apart around them, this was an act that had to last.

It wasn't until her body began to quiver with release that he pulled back to watch the pleasure flicker over her face; that beautiful symphony of unequaled gratification.

Head tilted against the brick wall, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, pulling so tight he feared she might actually draw blood as her lids rapidly blinked over eyes which were clenched shut.

Quickening his fingers' already frantic pace, he drew them back up, paying extra attention to that little nub that had the ability to drive her over the edge into glorious oblivion each and every time. That was all it took for her body to arch up as her breath caught; her entire being trembling in his grasp. It was a truly magnificent sight, but not one he took long to enjoy as, before she'd had time to come down, he was already loosening his trousers, allowing the flaps to fall open, and taking his cock in a firm hold.

So many nights had been spent coaxing his release with his own fingers, drawing it out as images of his wife expressing this very sentiment flitted over his vision; dreams and fantasies building the pressure in his core.

Now, though, it was real. She was here, her legs spread open and welcoming. This wasn't a dream that would only lead to frustration, or a night spent inside his own mind. It was a beautiful reality that would have her encasing him in her warmth; her sweet heat surrounding and caring for him.

Mouth finding hers the moment her eyes began to crack open, he pushed his stiff arousal through her entrance, absorbing the moan she released as he filled her in one swift thrust.

The moment reality struck him, his mouth slipped off hers to almost howl as how tight she was washed over him with immediate pleasure; her muscles enclosing and squeezing him to the point that he was nearly in tears.

No amount of nightly self pleasure could compare to the all consuming gratification that came with being inside her. She was his first, his last, and his only when it came to this feeling and he swore if God spared them this night that he would spend every night afterward worshipping this incomparable feeling that was her body enveloping his.

An endless string of groans was the only sound he could utter as she stretched to accommodate him, forcing him to adjust his stance and wrap an arm around her back to keep from dropping her.

While he waited for her to prod him into further action, he remained on shaky legs as he panted and pulsed, the smell of her natural scent drawing him in to join the sweat and dirt as well as a hint of lavender. The rest of the room invaded him as well, the scent of candle wax and metal swarming his nostrils, causing him to remember just where they were.

Even taking in the many times they'd enjoyed each other's bodies, this was still something new. They were in the open; exposed. Any minute, someone could walk in, becoming witness to their intimate act and, worse, interrupting it.

However, everything else paled in comparison to the fact that they did indeed have a witness; one who was likely seething as sounds of their moans and grunts had undoubtedly reached his ears.

The thought excited him even more.

"Tell him," he grunted into her ear with his first thrust since their joining. "Tell him with whom your heart lies."

The feel of her pulse pounding beneath his fingers, the rapid throb unfaltering, sent a thrill through him. She was a trembling mess in his hands, willing and trusting. There was little doubt in his mind that she would refuse him anything in this moment. This was an act at which they excelled; an act for which she and he had never refused one another.

"Ichabod," she whispered, her voice cracking under a moan as she clutched him closer through the next thrust.

"Louder, Katrina," he growled, picking up his pace, thrust after thrust driving deeper into her while his teeth roughly nipped at her ear.

The unabashed scream that tore from her lungs, his name carrying throughout the outer chamber, had his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he buried himself inside her to the hilt, pelvis pressing her firmly against the wall at her back. The sound of her pleasure overtook his senses as he wove his fingers through hers and pressed them over her head, the rough cracks in the wall scratching their hands as he slammed into her over and over.

She was his. She'd always been his; would always be his. It wasn't something he'd forced upon her, but something she'd chosen. She'd declared her love to him; knowing full well the potential consequences it could bring upon them, but she hadn't cared. She'd done it anyway. In that moment, she'd become his, body and soul, and he had no intention of ever allowing her to be anyone else's.

Needing to see it on her face, that brazen build of emotions, he pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead to hers, awaiting the pleasure that would soon ripple over her features.

However, the moment their eyes met, something unexpected flashed in her olive green eyes; something he should have recognized from the start.

Vulnerability.

It struck him so deeply as to cause him to falter in his movements. She was the most powerful person he knew, a witch, and yet she was allowing him to take her thusly; clothes half hazardly hanging off their limbs; her back pressed into a rough stone wall; the scent of sex drifting throughout the room. He was treating her like an animal; no better than a dog would treat his bitch.

His strokes stilled altogether as he stared into her eyes; green orbs he'd once have gone to hell and back for; _had_ gone to hell and back for.

Loneliness had plagued him for so long that he'd allowed it to turn him selfish; inconsiderate. A room full of people couldn't stomp it out as they'd never understand, never know the depth of his torment due to being so out of place; so different. Is that how she felt? Lonely? Had he unknowingly abandoned her on the road to finding a home in this century?

"I miss you," he whispered, his body throbbing within and over hers as their chests panted against one another.

Gently, even hesitantly, her slender fingers found his cheek. "You don't have to miss me anymore."

"Katrina-"

"Accept me," she whispered, her eyes practically begging. "Flaws and all."

Her yearning was so profound that he had to pause to gather his thoughts. Had he not already accepted her? Over and over? She was the one who kept leaving him! She was the one who had abandoned him in favor of Abraham.

"There are things I can't let go of," he countered, his eyes beginning to burn. "I don't know you anymore."

Hurt flashed over her face as her eyes dropped to his chest.

He had no wish to hurt her, but this was the most honest he'd been with her in ages and he only hoped she would follow the example.

"You can," she whispered, her fingers sliding over his face to rest in his hair. "If you still want to. If you think I'm still your love."

Forehead rocking against hers, he admitted, "This is about so much more than love, Katrina. It's trust; knowing you'll be there when I need you, or you admitting when you need me. I desire to be wanted, but who would want me? It seems as though the only thing I'm needed for is a role in the war. I have no further purpose. I'm no longer needed by you or anyone beyond that and I wonder if that's all I've ever been needed for. Sometimes, I feel as though the only thing you see when you look at me is the Witness you were meant to guide."

That particular fear had been weighing on him heavily for many months past; refusing to release its grip on his heart. It was an easy enough conclusion to come to considering her staunch concerns regarding his path as a Witness. She'd seen his destiny from the start; from nearly the moment they'd met. It left him to wonder if his birthright had played a bigger role in their marriage than their love.

Her fingers, smooth and slender, tilted his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. There was a renewed fire burning in her green orbs; a fierceness that had been absent for some time.

"I do need you. I need you to see me again; as more than a witch or a past player in the war who kept secrets from you. See me as the woman you came home to when you couldn't take another step; who held you as you wept for the losses you daily suffered. See me as the love you took long walks with along the river, laughing and playing with in the cool water. I'm still her, my love. That part of me has just been pushed so far to the background that I feel as though it's becoming invisible. I need to be needed, too; not as a soldier, or a witch, or as someone to be possessed, but as a woman with fears and insecurities; a woman desperate for love and affection from her family; from you, my most beloved husband."

God, how he wanted that. He desired more than anything to find those two people again; the one's who'd laughed and delighted in every moment spent in each other's company; the one's who'd wept and cursed the hearts of men who'd dared to tear them apart.

Unable to stand another moment without her touch, he sealed his mouth to hers and resumed his movements.

However, this time, he was gentler; slower. He wanted to treasure her; allow her to know that they could be more to each other again. When his seed emptied deep within her, he felt whole; like he'd found his home again.

Her hands, gentle and soft, stroked through his hair as he sagged against her shaking form, still pinning her to the wall. She was a warm reprieve from the coldness that had been stuck in his heart for so long.

"When this is over," he whispered, turning his face to breathe against her neck. "Come home with me. Don't leave me again, Katrina. I can't spend another night without you. I want to fall asleep in your arms; safe and secure in your love. No more secrets; no more words left unsaid. Make me whole again, Katrina. Give me purpose."

Her lips brushed along his cheek, the gentle pressure so sweet and more than enough to calm his tormented soul, if only for a moment.

"I promise," she whispered.

Content that she'd spoken a truth, or at least spent enough to believe her, he kept his head on her shoulder as he eased her to her feet and reached between them to adjust his trousers before buttoning and zipping hers. He didn't want to cause any undue embarrassment, or reason for their thoughts to wander. He wanted to stay close to her, reveling in this moment for as long as possible.

Then, with a reluctant sigh for having to leave her warmth, he stood straight and began on her corset.

"I, uhm..." He cleared his throat as he avoided her eyes, his fingers working on the latches. "Captain Irving."

She rested her hands on his arms and he noticed in his peripheral vision that her gaze was fixed on him. "Yes?"

"I came because I needed to know if he'd be able to wield the sword with impunity."

"Oh," she whispered as she glanced about the room, licking her lips. "Yes, I believe so. No being or sword can lay claim on a soul that's already been given."

Relief flooded him. At least, that was answered.

"Yes, well, in that case, we shall endeavor to retrieve him."

Finally meeting her eyes, he watched as she bit her lip and glanced at the window before flickering her eyes back to him and moving closer within his embrace, her arms sliding around his waist as she pressed into him.

"If you ask it of me, I'll go with you. However..." She tilted her head toward the window. "He can't be left alone."

He raised an eyebrow and took a step back to peer into the inner room while his hands maintained their hold on her. The moment his eyes connected with Abraham's, the man jerked forward against his chains, a snarl consuming his bright red face. From the looks of the rage burning in his eyes, he had, indeed, overheard them.

"Do you truly believe you'll garner any information from him?" He turned back to her with a lopsided grin. "After...?"

He wordlessly gestured toward the wall against which they'd just been pressed.

A genuine smile, the first he'd seen from her in ages, came to her lips.

"No, I don't believe so."

Somehow content with that answer, he nodded and took the step that kept them apart before running his hands down her arms until he'd interlocked their fingers. How he longed for the days where simply holding her hand had been his greatest desire.

"I will return as soon as Captain Irving has been located."

"And I'll faithfully await you, my love." Green eyes beamed up at him as she went up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "With eager anticipation for your arrival."

Heat spread over his collar as he cleared his throat and began stepping backward toward the door. When he'd opened it and moved to step through, he glanced back at her and noticed Abraham in the background, a scowl still present on his face.

Oh, how his pride begged him to smirk, to gloat like a preening peacock in the aftermath of what he knew was Abraham's witnessing of their intimacy. After all the man had put them through, he deserved to have their connection thrown into his face.

"I love you."

That was all it took to draw his gaze from Abraham to the face of his beautiful wife. With her hair mussed and her lips plump from being thoroughly kissed, he considered that enough of a representation over which Abraham could seethe.

Staring at her now, he became resolute in his mission to put all barriers that might pose a threat to he and his love to dust. There was only one thing left to be said; something he'd not straightforwardly and without misunderstanding uttered in centuries.

"I love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Abraham is such a turd. I've only imagined Ichabod and Katrina doing this a couple hundred thousand times ;) Take that, you delusional and possessive creep!


End file.
